Pure Emotion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I am frustrated with me, I rant.

Submitted: July 26, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 26, 2013



Pure Emotion


Boiling rage, euphoria, disappointment... As I look at the world, it makes me feel so many different things. I say "it makes me" as if it chooses to make me feel something, but it's actually my response to what I see.

Pure rage is the strongest thing I've ever felt, but nobody ever deserves it's wrath, only me. So I stop when I'm angry and I smash my head into walls, I punch myself in the head. I cry, I smash things to pieces.

That's how I deal with my issue, I slowly errode myself in some semi-dramatic fashion. You hope the world will care, but in the end it just feels like you're some little mote of dust in the wind, forever destined to be alone.

Fuck this life, but it's the only one I've got. So keep on soldiering, keep on going. Why? Why not. It's all pointless, embrace it. The futility of existence is that by being born you're already dead. My little rant on some computer keyboard about how I feel doesn't matter in the end, I mean really, look at this shit.

Ragagaga, anger and all this bullshit. Your lot in life, little man, is to be unable to have control of how you feel. Some thought burrowed it's way inside of you and has taken the steering wheel, as you cry for it to let you get back in charge. It doesn't let you or maybe you can't take control, you're too used to the fucking shit going on.

It's a horrible habit, a blood ugly routine. You've resigned yourself to yourself as a loser, somebody who isn't in control. Special needs, stupid, ugly, a failure, as you view yourself.

You disempower yourself, you cry into that empty glass, you smoke your stupid drugs expecting an answer to pop up out of your fucking head. Like staring dopey eyed at the grass will solve your fucking problem.

The rage you feel cannot escape can't feel more real, the desire to jump from a bridge and escape this horrible energy overflow... but then you stop and consider all the people you love, care about and would love to spend time with.

You stare at yourself in the mirror or in the reflection in that window, you think to yourself: "What the fuck is that? Is that me? I don't want to be that. Fuck off, be someone else."

I need a cure to this, I need someone to cure me. Please someone fucking arrive and make this annoying blurb in time a bit of bliss, if only for two seconds. It's not someone else's responsability, but it'd be nice if they had the power to fix it and would gift me their knowledge.

Who wants to wake up looking in the mirror thinking "cunt", "loser", "waster", "wanker", "idiot"? I know I don't want to but there my thoughts are, mocking me like an angry ex.

So many sensations in this reality, all those touches, tastes, smells, sights, sounds and the thoughts that follow. THE FUCKING THOUGHTS! Insanity is what they are, madness made understandable.

A screaching mumble that tells you not to bother, a reason not to bother or wake up in the morning or tell anyone you care about them because you know everyone will just disappear in the end.

Look at this, some 23 year old man documenting his feelings in ways which seem more appropriate for someone of an age bracket between 12 and 15, like someone with their chemicals telling them where to go, what to feel, what to think, how to react.

You drink, you think, you should just drink. Thinking isn't your strong point, you just devolve into cuntishness and brooding, like an insecure teenager.

Then when you try to document it, you start repeating yourself. As you eat your food, you repeatedly look at that fork and contemplate killing yourself with it, one swift stab.

A bridge, a knife. I can't look at knives anymore, as soon as I touch one horrible feelings and images fill my head, death, murder, suicide. I don't know why, but it's there. Knives are evil when I touch them, horrible, horrible, horrible...

Please God, let me escape this constant mental masturbation. Endless recycling of useless images in my head. All of them! Useless baggage fuled by ego.

Let me escape. Let it go! I want it gone, I just want to look at the world. I don't want to be afraid of people's eyes anymore. Why do eyes scare me? It's like everyone's looking into my soul, they know, they know how weak I am, how stupid I am, how angry I am. They know!

Why?! WHY?! Fucking why? I want it gone, GODDAMN IT. You cunt, man, escape!

You! Yes, you! The twat writing this, let go of who you think you are! Stop crying yourself to awakeness, stop feeling things. Be dead as you walk, talk, think, sleep.

Let everything compress into a screaching flatline, no emotion, no cares, no more sudden spikes of madness, no joy, no... regrets.

I regret everything, I miss everyone. I miss them all, the ones who hate me, the ones who love me, the ones who hardly know me. Why are these feelings so fucking intesne? Is it the fucking Autism? Am I just a fucking moron? I don't appear to have the answer but I know I want to find it so bad I'm willing to risk my life for it.

I'd take any chemical, follow any creed, drop everything and everyone just to... taste that answer. To drink from the cup of knowledge, to feel full for even one moment.

You looked at the world when you were very young and trapped yourself in grey. You said "why am I here, what am I meant to do with this" and you stood there, staring out at the fucking blue sky, aged 12, with a knife to the back of your skull like "do I end this now"?

And you didn't, that choice still confuses you now. The more you let your life snowball, the more people are gonna miss you when you're gone. The more sadness you sow, but also the more happiness you try to make and feel like you're not making.

Everything feels like failure, endless repition of the same mistakes. You don't understand why they appear in the first place, so when they occur again you have trouble learning again and again.

After a while, you learn that you're not gonna learn, that failure seems to be your second nature and your only saving grace is your ability to survive being an idiot. That fool in the bright top who can't keep his emotions in check, stop those fucking meltdowns.

The crying idiot staring at himself in the mirror before being picked up in a car by two nice people. The confusing madness that nobody knows how to cure, everyone else can only stare at you flailing madly as if you were possessed, they've got no idea why you're acting like that.

Is this madness? What the fuck is this? Is it normality? Do regular people feel like this? What the fuck is regular?!

Goddamn it! Everything feels really hollow, I suppose that's normal when you realise you can only ever really touch the outside of anything that exists in this plane of reality.

In your mind, you can touch them differently. You run through it in your head, a thousand reflections. Your dreams shaped every moment differently, your expectations and hopes guided you towards this moment and it unfolds the way it is in reality.

Ten times out of ten, it's not the way you want it to be. You scream impotently at reality, like it's going to change because you're upset. But there you are, with those emotions. They don't make any sense to you, how are they going to make sense to anyone else?

As you become acutely aware of this, your feelings intensify even more. You've found a fire and doused it in gasoline, your horrible thoughts intensified by the realisation that there is no escape and no end to the horrible cycle.

Cycle after cycle, madness made routine. You ignorant cunt, figure it out, come on.

What's so difficult? Reality doesn't adhere to your hopes and dreams, it's that simple. You're literal, you think "this means this" and "that means that" and "that's the way it is" when reality is far less clear, unable to accept your lack of control.

Angry with yourself for not being God, you lash out like someone with a desire to never see anyone ever again. You tear at every good spot you can find, insulting everyone you can, destroying every good thing you've ever valued, in some vain attempt at feeling whole.

As you write this, you contemplate how others might view it, how it'll effect you, how every little drop in the pond is gonna effect you. Are you whining? Are you... immature? Is this a spur of the moment thing? Does this mean anything or nothing?

I don't know. All I know is every time I dream, it's horrible and turns into a nightmare of my own creation. I am my own worst enemy, why? I don't want to be, but there I am, laughing at my own pain.

"Ha, ha, ha! Little fucker can't get anything done again, like always. You stupid fuck, like get a grip."

Just become a psychopath, turn off your care. Why does anyone matter to you, anyway? I don't fucking know. They just do! They're just images, sounds, smells, a bit of sensory feedback. Why does it matter?

Come on! Escape it! Come on... hate still there. Hate for everything. What the fuck is that? I mean, seriously. It's hate, yeah but why resent reality for daring to be there?

I mean come on. What the fuck were you expecting? You already knew you were gonna fail before you started, like you expected anything else other than a cold grey at the end of this staggered march. Your forced advance in the face of an inevitable failure.

Fucking waste of time. Everything. No, come on, don't feel like that.

You're perfectly fi... failing. Failing at everything, perfectly.

Don't I get to know? Just once? Don't I get to stop pretending I'm not gonna fall over and actually stop falling over?

Why? COME ON. For fuck's sake, reality. I want to stop, I want to stop it, I want it to stop. Fucking stop it. STOP IT. MAKE IT STOP.

A thousand obsessions and not one of them does anything. No love, no real expectations. Just idle wasting of time. Nothing to contribute to reality, just wasting all your resources on keeping busy.

Just keep busy, it won't hurt you. Just keep busy, they'll leave you alone. Just keep busy, reality will stop clawing at you. Just... fuck it all. Fuck everything.

Just... just... why?

Look at you! I mean seriously, look at you. Not the pale image, the actual you. Emotional, lashing out, offended by nothing as everyone else sees it. I hate that they can't see it, I hate that they can't see why or they just think I'm being stupid.

I know they think that, I can read it on their faces. I "know". I can feel it, I can taste it. Their judgement, their silent mocking. Their... blank faces, their confused attempts to carry on. Their... they're mad. They're so mad.

I'm mad. I'm mad at me, I'm mad at being alive. I'm mad I don't get to just feel joy when I want to. I want to be happy, too! I want your carefree attitude, I want to enjoy people wanting to enjoy me and my company.

Why does everything taste so bitter and blue? Like a bag of crisps left open for a week before you get to them. Like staring out at a pure orange sunset and thinking "what the fuck am I looking at, why am I looking at it, what am I supposed to be THINKING right now?!".

Look at you writing, rambling, spilling your inner most feelings like blood from a bullet wound. Fuck you, what the fuck is this? You cunt. Do something! Do it now! Make something.

Alright, here's something, a monument to how you feel. This stupid little piece of writing, so someone else can actually fucking read how you feel.

Let me fucking cry! Let me fucking cry! I couldn't cry when they disappeared. I couldn't cry when gran, granch and Frank disappeared.

Why did that happen? They were my childhood, something in me died with them. They were great people, lived full lives. All I did was look confused, say hi and eat the food they readily provided me.

I didn't do anything of worth for them! What the Hell?! Why did they care about me? Why am I worth anything? I don't know why. Maybe blood is that thick... or maybe I am that thick.

Like a coagulated milkshake, only it keeps on going and doesn't get chucked in the bin and replaced with a clean, functional version. Someone fucking upgrade me. I need a hardware upgrade, a software update, someone get me the user manual! I want to fix my errors!

You cunt, wake up! You sleepwalk through your life, letting everything else but yourself steer you. What has it gotten you? Angry, upset, obsessed, addicted, conflicted.

Look at your hands, proof of your failures. Nicotine burns, splinted from your annoying bike ride. Dried blood from your angry headbutting of walls caught under your fingernails.

What the fuck am I meant to learn from that? Come on! Let me break this horrible nightmare open and walk into rapture. Don't sell me your snakeoil, little person. Enlighten me!

Friendship? I don't understand it. Why does anyone like me? I just keep blowing up. Befriending me seems about as logical as hugging a nuclear bomb. Run away! Get away from my stupidity!

I hate me! I am the worst creation I ever bothered to sculpt, shaped by endless thoughts and emotions. Unable to escape my feeble mind, my crumbling frame, my aching bones. Someone release me. Maybe if this shit is annoying enough someone will just stab me?

Probably no such luck. Ha! A positive mindset manifests a positive destiny... fuck right off, mate. My self-defeating nature is built on positive thinking, it's just a build up before a fall.

Somewhat like driving a racecar off a cliff, only less exciting than that. Like watching a can of orange juice slowly dribble over the floor as you drop it, then.

You're not handsome. You're not talented. Nobody really wants you to do anything but help them pass time. You haven't got anything to offer this world except this whiney script detailing how pathetic you feel and well that's just fucking great, huh?

What're you expecting? Attention? Understanding? Actually, a stream of insults and 20 people telling me to grow up, act my age. Act your age. Act your age.

23...That's your age. What the fuck do 23 year olds act like? Getting drunk? Getting laid? Being happy with stupid things? I don't know. I'm stuck in this 23 year old shaped piece of space.

I can't remember how I got here or figure out where I'm going. Why am I doing anything? Sleepwalk more. Sleep. Walk. Sleep. Walk. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Eep.

Look at yourself dreaming of madness, an excuse, a reason for being so stupid. Why can't I stop being so annoying? Even this is annoying me. Writing how I feel.

But, fuck it. If it's all pointless, if everything is just a Nihilistic exercise in walking from pointless to poinless, then that doesn't matter. I like you all, you seem so much better than me.

You don't seem to break like I do, I like that. By virtue of not being me, I have given you a value greater than me. Someone hug me. Just tell me life is okay. Someone? Please?

I don't want to feel like I can't go near anyone for fear of failure anymore!LET IT STOP!

For the love of God, let me take the fucking jester hat off! I'm done amusing everyone, let me have some fucking dignity! Stop hiting me, stop invading my personal space, stop telling me what to fucking do!

I hate it! I HATE IT. It feels so wrong, it all feels so wrong! Even the ranting, the venting. Repeat. Repeat. Repe... repent.

I am evil, I am broken, I cannot escape what I am. I am not right. I am never right. Everyone's more right than me, I am more wrong than them.

I'm not special or in deserving of some unique treatment, please someone just cure me.

Teach me how to be smart! Teach me how to understand you, please! I want to know! Why are we talking? What's going on? It's all so confusing.

Oh, God, am I doing this right? I'm not sure what this is, it feels odd. I'm so scared.

Please let me go, me. I want to go. Stop holding on, let me be someone else. Let me wake up better. Let the confused boy go, let me become "a man". What is this mental straight jacket, you Autistic fuck?! HUH?! You dull bastard!

Fix yourself, pull your own strings. Do your own dirty work, superglue yourself back together. You malfunctioning twat.

Come on, come on. Oh God, their fucking eyes. Why don't they ever stop looking at me? What the fuck are they thinking? How am I meant to act here?

I keep saying "oh God" like I am expecting an answer. I know nothing's going to come, I've a greater chance of getting blood from a stone. You idiot.

Bleed idiot, bleed. Feel that bad blood leave you, it'll be back soon enough. Your bad blood leaves but you haven't destroyed the source. It keeps coming back. Evil. Evil. Evil.

A horrible addiction to addiction, to failure, to habit. It seems hardwired into me!

MAKE IT FUCKING STOP! Why is everything so dramatic? This is so Goddamn frustrating. Turn them off! I don't want emotions anymore. Let me fucking escape. I want them off!

Turn them off, please. I want contentment. I want a gentle numbing, a shot, a pill, something. Break them, burn them. Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die! Kill that part of me. Something, someone. Immolate them.

Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. You cunt. Hate! Every time I stop to let my emotions take over evaluating myself, that's all I fucking feel. I'm sick and tired of always being sick and tired. YOU FUCK!

Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopit. Cease! Refrain! Undo! Delete! Reset! Wipe the harddrive. Break this corrupt loop.

Weirdo. Loser. Creep. Idiot. Dullard. Confused lump of attempt at humanity.

Become something better, you sick bastard! Come on, you can heal up the common cold. Can't you mend this? I have to live in this head! Come on, come on, come on, come on!

Stupid images. Stupid sounds. Stupid senses. Stupid memories. I don't like them, everything seems like too much. These smells make me want to gag, these sights make me so dizzy, the sound is so much I can't make any of it out.

My senses hate me! Block out the dross! But what if it's valuable? Don't block it out, you might learn something. We're just overloading ourselves. STOP IT! Weak, weak, weak. You styrofoam cup of a person, I bet a hot coffee is too much for you!

My brain feels... odd. I've burned everything up. It's like everything in there is just an echo from something I've stopped living. What the fuck is that? Stop it. This is something more than one event, this is a crescendo of failure!

Please stop and admire the fuck up as you pass, thank you. Ha, ha! That's the spirit. Madness. Madness. MADNESS. My sense of humour has turned off, I want to tell jokes but none come out. My tone is so dead.

Have I actually broken my emotions? No, why am I twitching? No! Maybe it's the headwound? Oh, that'd make sense. The ache distracts me for a bit, at least.

I've not been in this mindset for a very long time. This is someone old, a back-up version. My default setting. Why now? I set myself an impossible goal, caused my own pain, dwelled, boiled over like an unattended pot of water.

You're an idiot throwing darts at a map and hoping to find the Garden of Eden. Pointless. Burn your map, stop picking places to go.

Reality doesn't give a shit about what you want, you failure. Sit down and shut up, stop talking, stop thinking, stop typing, stop having emotions. They serve no purpose, people just confuse and scare you. You don't know what you're supposed to do with them.

Purpose? Purpose? It feels like my purpose is to be a failure so other people can learn how great they are. Am I some hobbling abomination? I feel like one.

Become a rock or something, it's so much easier. Hermit! That's it, be a hermit, escape. Escape. Run, run, run, run, RUN! Being awake scares me so much, there's so much to take it and try to understand.

I feel like a fly trying to understand quantum physics, occasionally some shape I make looks like something vaguely related to the subject but it's nothing at all. Like everything in front of me.

It's not real, it's not real. It's not real! I must be trapped in my head, this can't be reality. No. No. No. I refuse to accept this! Break free of the trap, don't get caught in the snare.

You've already failed, every time you do anything. Confusion. Madness. Idiocy.

No, it must be in my head. I made this. It's all my fault. I know it is, I know it is, I know it is. I know. I must know. I'm a thinking person, how can anything ellude me? Maybe my memory is broken... the fishtank hasn't got any ability to hold water and all the fish I put in just die.

They don't stay there, I just look at their shattered remains and see something vaguely resembling them. Super-imposing my madness over their broken forms. Their smeared outlines.

No, this is all in my head. I am not here, I am not. This isn't hap... this is happened. I am typing this, this is real. No. Come on, no. Please, let me just wake up.


I've poured my soul into this document... why doesn't it stop? Doesn't what I want matter at all to how my life unfolds? Am I really just at the mercy of chaos?!

I want something more, please! I keep seeing things that aren't there, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Please no. I don't want to be broken.

SUPERGLUE MY BRAIN BACK TOGETHER! Sync back up with reality, let me be rewired.

Remain broken then! Fine! I'll fucking keep going anyway, I'll keep tripping and fucking up and everyone will hate me and fuck you reality.

You're too shit to be real, this must be in my head.

Wait, what? I don't know. Me, help me. I know you can do it, you've survived 23 years of me. I know I'm smart enough to break it, break the madness. Break it, break it like you've broken so many friendships and chances.

Break it. Break it. Break.

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